


America's European Nightmare

by rev_lady_mal



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Multi, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev_lady_mal/pseuds/rev_lady_mal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America wants to remain neutral and stay out of the war in Europe. It's causing him to have sleepless nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Part 1

 

America yawned and glanced over at the face of the alarm clock sitting on the side table next to the bed. Almost three a.m. and he still couldn’t get to sleep. “What the hell is wrong with me these days?” He mumbled to himself as he looked back up at the ceiling of his room. Since the sinking of the Lusitania nothing had made any sense. England and France insisted Germany was a bloodthirsty monster, Germany insisted he had done nothing wrong and gave fair warning. What could he do? The people wanted peace and nothing to do with the war in Europe; it was Europe’s problem let Europe deal with it. He yawned and closed his eyes, listening to the ticking of the clock. The rhythmic sound hopefully would help him fall asleep he thought, but instead the sound began to change; grew softer and farther way. 

Then he heard a familiar voice behind him say, “Perhaps you can’t sleep because of a guilty conscience?”

America’s eyes flew open. He was lying on a strange leather couch in a room he didn’t recognize. The tapping made him sit up and turn around to locate its source. Sitting in a comfortable high-backed chair with legs crossed, pad of paper balanced on one knee, sat Austria. The tapping came from his pencil as he beat out an irritated cadence against the pad of paper, angry eyes never leaving America’s. 

“And why would I have a guilty conscience?” America asked. 

“Do you wish to end the therapy session now and ask stupid questions?” Austria asked, adjusting his glasses. The pencil tapping stopped long enough while he scratched something onto the pad on his knee. “Lay back down on the couch please, I am sensing hostility from you, which I find interesting with your claim of being neutral.”

America’s confused expression grew deeper but he complied and settled back down on the cool leather. “But I am neutral.”

The pencil tapping began again. “Please America, you are blocking. Now, we were discussing the sense of guilt you are experiencing from your current activities with certain European powers that have declared war on other European powers, and how you are using this for your own profit, which is causing your sleepless nights.” 

“Wait a minute,” America blurted out, sitting up again to look at Austria. “You’re not going to ask me to talk about my mother are you?”

Without changing his deadpan look, eyes still burning with anger, Austria asked, “Do you want to talk about your mother? This may be the source of hostility and guilt you are experiencing.” He jotted more notes onto his pad of paper. 

“What? NO! I don’t want to talk about my mother! What the hell is going on, and why is the tapping getting louder?” America looked at the pencil in Austria’s hand and realized he had stopped tapping some time ago.

“Are you going to answer that?” Austria asked. America realized the loud knocking was coming from his front door. Then he looked down and saw he was sitting on his own sofa in his own living room. He turned to look at Austria but the other country was gone. The knocking grew louder.

“Coming!” America called out and rose from the couch. He stumbled to the front door and opened it, stopping whoever was beating down his door in mid-knock. 

Ah, Guten Tag! A smiling Prussia greeted America. “I was beginning to think I would have to put this back on the truck. Sign here please!”

America accepted the clipboard Prussia offered him. “Put what back on the truck?”

“Why, this parcel or course, special delivery!” Prussia said, and stepped aside, allowing America to see the enormous wooden box sitting in his drive.

His jaw dropped when he saw it. “What the hell is it?” America shouted at Prussia, who was busy ticking off boxes on the form America just signed. 

“Surplus stock originally intended for England, but he said he had no more room and to forward it to you. Don’t shoot the messenger!” Prussia cheerfully explained, as he walked behind the crate. “Could you help me get it inside? This is very heavy.”

“Get it inside,” America blurted out irritably, “It’s too big to even fit through the door!” But he joined Prussia who had begun pushing the box toward his front door. With both of them moving the crate they began to build momentum and much to America’s dismay and surprise they were suddenly in his living room again, and the box occupied most of it.

“No need to tip me! England has already paid dearly and I expect will pay even more before it’s all over. Good morning!” Prussia chuckled as he turned and left the house, slamming the front door behind him. America looked at the crate, wondering what to do with it when he finally noticed in large letters on the side of the wooden panel:

GERMAN HATRED

 

“What the - ” America said, “What the hell is this for?”

“Ah amigo, I sincerely doubt you don’t know what this is for.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More nations let America know how much they appreciate him being neutral in World War I.

Part 2

America’s gaze shot up and found Spain’s green eyes, filled with loathing, staring down from the top of the crate at America. He lay on his side staring down at the younger country, the wide smile on his handsome face made chills crawl up America’s back. “How did you get up there Spain?”

“When did you forget how to get pissed off in the past twenty years America? That’s the question that needs an answer.” Spain stood up, still smiling and still staring at America like he wanted to tear him to pieces. “Let me help you!” He stomped on the crate with his right foot, making the wooden panels fall away. America jumped back from the falling crate and found himself on a large dock in what had been his living room. He looked up at Spain and found him standing on scaffolding being lowered down the side of a passenger ship, LUSITANIA in big white letters taller than Spain when the scaffolding stopped were painted on the hull. He smiled and laughed as he looked down at America and raised both arms. In his left hand was a bucket of paint, in the right, a large paint brush.

America could only stand there and watch while Spain bounced from one end of the scaffolding to the other, singing to himself as he sloppily covered up LUSITANIA with paint and started writing a new name under it. America couldn’t see it from Spain moving about so quickly. Finally he turned and faced the country standing down on the dock and sang out “I’m finished!” And he jumped down from the scaffolding and landed in front of America.

“Well, what do you think?” He asked, tossing the bucket and paint brush aside and walking towards America with a look that made the other county want to back up a few steps. America jumped when the bucket made a loud clattering sound. He looked up at the ship and saw the new name Spain painted there - MAINE.

“There! Does that make it easier for you now? Is the rage to act building up inside you, hmm?” Spain asked as he turned to look at his handiwork, putting his arm around America’s shoulders and giving him a squeeze that made him wince. Spain stood there, admiring his paint job and said “I hate you so much.”

“You do need to think of something else to do mon cher, because what you’ve done so far bores me to tears.” France yawned. America turned and looked at the long-haired country standing on the dock. In his hands were a pad of blank paper and a quill pen, and on the sheets of paper he wrote “Note number 1 to Berlin: Humanity Series” over and over again, tossing each sheet of paper into the water. “Is this the best you can think of every time that bastard Germany sinks another boat and takes more American lives?”

“What do you want me to do France?” America was seriously getting annoyed with the way the other countries were behaving towards him. “I declared my neutrality because I don’t see why Europe’s squabbles – which you seem to enjoy having every twenty to thirty years I might add – have anything to do with me. I live on the other side of the Atlantic!”

“No, you won’t get involved, but you have no moral issues with making huge profits while we suffer and die.” France replied, walking up to America and standing close enough that he could feel France’s breath on his face. “I have an idea; let’s put something in your mouth so we don’t have to listen to you whine anymore.” And he seized America’s head and dug his fingers into the junctures of America’s jaw, forcing his mouth open wide. America panicked and attempted to back away, terrified of what the perverted French bastard would do but Spain grabbed him from behind. France smiled slightly as he forced a piece of cold metal into America’s mouth. Leather reigns were attached and at the first tug he turned his head to scream at Spain to stop.

Except the green eyes he saw weren’t Spain’s. They were England’s.

“Giddyap!” England shouted, and dug his heels into America’s sides. The younger country grunted with pain but when he raised his hands to pull the bit out of his mouth and saw they were now hooves his eyes widened in shock. He tried to stand up but found he couldn’t with England sitting on his back. England dug his heels in again and cracked America’s backside with his riding crop, which made the other country shout in agony – as best as he could with a bit in his mouth.

“Let’s go you bloody git!” England growled at him, “The call to charge has sounded we’re falling behind!” And he liberally applied the riding crop to America’s rump. “Stop trying to kick me off, you know you’re enjoying this.”

America screamed with anger and pain; he fell down on his hands and knees. As soon as he saw that his hands were no longer hooves he sat up and tore the bit from his mouth. “Goddamn it England LET ME GO.” And when he looked down again he realized he was sitting in a lifeboat dangling over the side of a passenger ship.

The screams of the crowd on deck tore his eyes to the listing ship. Panicked people were rushing towards the lifeboat, women held up their children begging that they be spared. With both hands raised England stood on deck next to the lifeboat and shouted at the hysterical mob.

“Alright you lot, back up back up! First we have to save the Americans, and then we can save the human beings.”

America looked at England with horror, but England smiled back and gave him a thumbs up. He looked at his companion in the lifeboat and recognized his boss, casually sitting and reading a newspaper, as if enjoying an afternoon in the park. America looked back at England, who now had the rope to lower the boat down in his hands. “Happy landings old chap!!” England said, and grinned evilly as he pulled his hands away abruptly and let the boat free-fall down to the water below.

The last thing America saw as he screamed was England’s smiling face looking over the edge of the ship, waving as he watched him fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America figures out what's keeping him awake at night and decides to do something about it.

Part 3

 

America felt the hull of the boat scrape on gravel. He opened his eyes and pulled himself up to peer over the edge. His eyes were immediately drawn to the large green statue before him, lit up with spot lights and standing proud. “I’m on Liberty Island.” America murmured as he stepped out of the boat and stumbled on shore.

As he drew closer to the monument, he began to hear a loud metallic sawing sound coming from above. He looked up and suddenly froze horrified as he realized the torch was being sawed off from the statue’s upraised arm. He ran forward just in time to hear a piercing shriek from above as the last of the torch tore from the statue and fell to the ground, shaking the earth from the impact and knocking America to the ground.

“Are you alright?” America heard a voice call, and he looked up to see the ever smiling Russia standing on Liberty’s big toe.

America shakily pulled himself back to his feet as Russia jumped down to the ground and sauntered forward. “Wha – what the fuck are you doing?” America screamed at the tall country, who walked over where the torch lay on the ground. “This is a national icon! A gift from France!”

“Da.” Russia replied, picking up the torch and slinging it over his shoulder as if hoisting a farm tool. “I have need of new firebrand, and this will do very nicely.” He leaned in closer to America’s face and added, “Since you’re not really using it anymore …” And he walked away, waving and shouting “Spasiba Tovarish!” He disappeared behind the desecrated monument.

“Hey! Hold up!” America shouted and took off running after Russia. He rounded the statue to the other side but Russia was nowhere to be seen. A small rose garden stood before him, and he suddenly felt so weary he couldn’t stand any longer. He slowly dragged his feet to the welcoming bench and lowered himself down with a heavy sigh. He looked at the roses in bloom and leaned over to smell one. Suddenly his ears were full of angry buzzing and he waved his arm to brush the bee away.

“How typical of you!” An angry voice shouted above the buzzing, and America squinted at the bee for a closer look. Canada’s head was attached to the bee’s body, and he looked angrily back at him. “You always get the best and the most of everything! And while you sit here and relax the rest of us have to go suffer and fight! You really make me sick!” Canada buzzed around America’s head several more times, making America duck out of the way. Canada aimed his stinger at America’s nose and shouted, “I wish I could use this on you, but I have to save it for the war!” And with one last look of spiteful anger he flew away and joined the other bees

“Canada, hold on!” America shouted and started running to catch up. He ran up a slight rise and stopped, below was a beach, the ocean and a long rowboat with France sitting inside.

“What are you doing here?” France grumbled. “Someone must be selling tickets for the show. Americans are the best at selling things.”

America rolled his eyes, but then caught movement on the beach. He looked up and saw England half running, half stumbling with something heavy in his arms. America stared hard, until he recognized who was being carried, a badly wounded Greece. France jumped up and ran to help England put Greece into the boat. “Where the hell is Russia and Italy?”

“Which Italy?” England grunted.

“Does it matter?” France replied. “They’re both as useful as tits on a bull.”

England realized America stood there watching and sneered, “Sorry we don’t have time for a social call, but we’re a bit busy at the moment.”

Russia and Southern Italy appeared on the beach just then and ran towards the boat. England looked up and shouted at them, “Hurry up! You’re always lagging behind! I feel like we’re reenacting the bloody Iliad and just kidnapped Helen of Troy!”

“But my name is Hellen.” Greece mumbled.

Russia gave Greece a kitten and hopped into the boat. Southern Italy ran up, but stopped when he saw America standing there. “What the hell do you want bastard!?” He spat out, tossing a few more kittens into the boat and jumping in.

“If your brother doesn’t get here in the next ten seconds he gets to stay here with neutral America.” England spat. In the distance America could make out gunfire, and then a loud, shrill scream growing louder. Laden down with armloads of cats, Northern Italy appeared on the beach screaming, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH BULGARIAAAANS!”

“That’s our cue!” France shouted. He and England began pushing the boat into deeper water. Northern Italy dove into the boat headfirst. Artillery shells began to send up showers of sand on the beach. America looked at the retreating boat and shouted, “What do you want me to do? I can’t save the whole world!”

“No one’s asking you to save the world git!” England shouted back.

“But it would be nice if you would stop squeezing the life out of it.” Russia added, shaking a mewing kitten off his coat sleeve as it tried to climb on him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” America said.

“Stupid bastard! You can’t even see the blood on your own hands! Quit squeezing the world like an overripe tomato!” Southern Italy shouted while making a lewd gesture with two fingers.

“Blood? Where?” America asked, and then he saw the world in his hand, dripping with blood. As the blood drops fell they turned into gold. Swimming around his feet were rich and powerful American business owners singing as they swam, “The longer Europe swims in blood, the deeper we swim in the golden flood!”

“NO!”

A shell exploded close enough to send America flying into the water.

 

America sat up in bed, trying to catch his breath. He looked at his hands and felt waves of relief to see they were clean. He pushed at his temples with the palms of his hands, trying desperately to remove the images still swirling in his head.

“Trouble sleeping?

America looked up. Sitting in a chair in front of the window so the back lighting cast his face in shadows was England in full combat gear. He was covered in mud and smoking a cigarette. America couldn’t help but notice that his fingers shook slightly.

“Yeah, can’t seem to get any rest these days.” America said, rubbing his eyes.

“I know how that goes.” England said. He brought the cigarette up to his mouth and took a slow drag, and the glow from the cigarette illuminated his face for a moment. America couldn’t stop himself from gasping and showing alarm at England’s bruised and cut face. Dark circles ringed his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“I apologize, I probably look a fright. That’s what almost two years in the trenches will do to a man. I’m exhausted. Death sounds good to me; it means I’ll finally get some rest. Fuck that bed looks comfy. Do you know what I sleep in? Mud, blood, shit. Not always in that order of course. My feet are half rotted off. I don’t want to be rude but would you mind if I removed my boots? Thanks.” And England wearily bent over and began to loosen the laces.

As the boots came off America had to grab his bed covers to keep from covering his nose at the gut churning smell that emanated from England’s feet. He gingerly stood up and removed his helmet, then his uniform tunic.

“I-I –uh – heard that Germany wants to negotiate peace.” America stammered nervously, watching England finish his cigarette and grind the butt into the leg of his pants. He dropped it on the floor and started shuffling towards the bed.

“He says that but it’s no good, we can’t talk peace now.”

“But why? Why not?” America demanded, watching England as he put his knee on the foot of the bed and began crawling onto it.

“Because,” England answered, as he continued to crawl over America’s legs, straddling him until he sat on America’s lower abdomen. “Germany has the advantage, and he knows it. If we negotiate peace now, it will mean France loses; which also means I lose, Russia too for that matter. France is all but finished, and Russia’s having problems with rebels at home. I know the situation’s dire, but the alternative is worse.”

“The alternative?” America swallowed, his eyes getting wider as England leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp.

“I don’t even want to imagine a world …” England said, switching on the light.

“… with Germany on top!” Germany said, his eyes boring into America’s.

America tried to sit up and push Germany off of him, but the other country only looked at him with his angry eyes and laughed. As his laughing grew louder and filled the room, his eyes disappeared into their sockets and the flesh on his face melted away, leaving a laughing skull wearing an imperial helmet. America screamed.

America sat up in bed, yelling, covered in sweat. He looked around the room but there was no England, no Germany, no smelly boots or filthy, mud covered uniform. He ran his hand through his hair and took some long, deep breaths. He pulled back the bed covers and swung his legs around until his feet were on the floor. America looked at the clock. Nine thirty in the morning. He was already late, but hopefully not too late. He jumped out of bed and ran out the door to make a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This entire plot came from an article published in the January 1916 edition of Cartoons magazine about how Europe’s political cartoons depicted the United States and its lack of commitment to the conflict across the Atlantic. Allied and Axis both condemned the United States for its claims of neutrality while profiting from the war at the same time. Thanks for reading all three parts, I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
